Chief George looked at Alven in confusion and asked, "Do you know where to find such a thing?"
Alven smiled mysteriously and said, "I have an informant in Hell's Kitchen who knows something. I'll dig that thing out of its lair soon."
Chief George said worriedly, "If you take action, you must inform me. I will arrange police support for you. I know you have some good men, especially Frank Castle, but that thing is very dangerous, and I don't want any accidents."
When Chief George mentioned Frank, his expression wasn't very good, indicating he was well aware of the situation.
Alven chuckled easily, "It's fine. For dealing with that kind of thing, more people are actually useless. If my guess is correct, as long as we find the right method, even our little Ginny can handle it."
As he spoke, Alven pinched Ginny's little nose and continued, "When I catch that thing, I'll let you know to come and observe. But you need to be mentally prepared; they're probably the kind of troublesome things I'm guessing. For you, that is!"
Chief George was a bit confused and asked, "Why will it be troublesome for me? What about you?"
Alven picked up Ginny, spun her around in the air, and said meaningfully, "Because no matter how many of those things come, I can take them all down. As for you—let me give you a hint: that thing might have existed for many years, with a large population. But why do you know nothing about it?"
Chief George gasped, slammed his fist on the table, and cursed under his breath, "Those sons of bitches at S.H.I.E.L.D. must know something but are afraid to tell me." He then looked at Alven somewhat dejectedly, "Your guess isn't necessarily right, is it?"
Alven shrugged and said, "Yes, that's why I need to verify it myself. If such things truly exist, then Hell's Kitchen will be their grave."
Chief George was a determined man, perhaps also seeing Alven's relaxed demeanor, and Alven had said that if they found the method, the thing wouldn't be difficult to deal with. Although there might be big trouble in the future, for now, he still chose to have a beer.
Alven handed the beer to Chief George and asked somewhat anxiously, "George, my friend, what have you decided about your daughter, as we discussed yesterday?"
George, drinking his beer, eyed Alven and said in a strange tone, "After I got home yesterday, I remembered that there's no Nobel Prize in Mathematics. My friend, you should check if the professor you mentioned has falsified his resume."
Alven scratched his head awkwardly. This was the disadvantage of having little education. Even bragging could easily be exposed. However, seeing Jessica's clueless look when she heard "Nobel," Alven felt a little more balanced.
"Slip of the tongue, slip of the tongue. Once this matter is over, I invite you and your wife to visit our school for an inspection. What? Your daughter too? No need for that! Children just need to focus on their studies; leaving the school selection to parents is the best arrangement." Alven tried to persuade Chief George.
Chief George was somewhat tempted. The conditions Alven had mentioned earlier were very attractive to a father with a beautiful daughter. After all, he couldn't watch his daughter all the time, and there were too many bad boys nowadays.
After some thought, George said, "Then, after this matter is over, I'll arrange a time to go and see. My friend, I hope everything you said is true!"
Alven patted his chest and guaranteed, "Believe me, no parent who visits can refuse my school. It will be the cradle of the Ivy League."
"I hope so!" Chief George drained his beer and bid farewell, leaving the restaurant.
Watching the Chief leave again, driving after drinking, Alven snorted in disdain. "That law-breaking bastard. Next time I get a ticket, I'll give them your name. If you don't fix it for me, I'll report you."
...
Late at night, in the lobby of the Peace Hotel, Alven and JJ were organizing some equipment.
Alven held a net-launcher modified from a shotgun and asked, "Is this thing sturdy?"
An excited JJ was stuffing rifle magazines into his gear. Hearing Alven's question, he chuckled, "Don't worry, boss, once this thing nets something, even an elephant can't break free."
Seeing his excitement, Alven thought for a moment, considering what he was likely to encounter. He pulled all the weapons off JJ and handed him an old Remington shotgun and an old Springfield 1911 pistol.
"If you don't catch it, use this to take it down." He didn't explain further, just strapped a Glock 17 pistol to his own waist.
These guns had all been modified by Alven, inlaid with the rune "Eihwaz," which would cause immense damage to undead creatures, a targeted approach. What? Silver bullets? That's what rich people do. Alven certainly didn't have that kind of money, but I have a cheat, don't I?
However, silver-plated knives could be brought along. A dejected JJ followed his boss's instructions and carried a silver-plated dining knife, only as long as his palm and as wide as his finger. He remembered it was a gift from old Kent, who used to fence stolen goods. After he quit, all the good silverware was given to Alven.
With everything ready, Alven went upstairs to check on his sleeping daughter, kissed her forehead, and tucked her in. He then checked on Nick; that kid could kick his blanket off with one leg, so he'd definitely amount to something in the future.
Looking at Jessica's closed door, Alven smiled and shook his head, then went downstairs to meet JJ and head out.
Next to the old pickup truck, Frank, fully armed, leaned against the passenger door. He said impatiently, "I've been waiting for you guys for a long time. Why are you so slow?"
"Did I ask you to come, buddy?" Alven grumbled inwardly, but at the same time, he felt a sense of reassurance. This was the feeling of family: I don't ask what it's about; if you're going to fight, I'll grab my gear and go with you to take them on.
Alven looked at Frank's equipment: two FN SCAR automatic rifles, two alien short assault rifles, two pistols, and a tactical vest full of magazines.
He punched the envious JJ and said to Frank, "Buddy, this isn't Iraq, and we're not going to war. We're just going to catch a small animal. Do we really need to make such a big fuss?"
Frank looked at Alven and JJ's equipment, then at his own, and felt it was a bit excessive. He gave an embarrassed smile and said, "Just bring it. We can leave it in the car if we don't use it."
JJ nodded vigorously, drooling at Frank's gear. Look at what he was using? An old, outdated Remington, and a 1911 that clearly looked secondhand. Then look at Frank's.
Alven smiled and nodded, letting him be. He turned and went to the restaurant's basement, and when he returned, he threw Frank a Remington similar to JJ's and said, "Your guns might not be useful against those little animals. Take this."
Frank handled the shotgun he received, not questioning Alven's judgment, and nodded, indicating he understood.
JJ drove, with Alven in the passenger seat giving directions. Frank sat in the back, taking off his guns, leaving only a Colt 1911 on his waist. He loaded the Remington shotgun shells one by one into the magazine.
Alven extended his hand out the window, tapping rhythmically on the car roof, and said, "Let's go."